“I Will Just Go Find Us Some Gangsta Boys…”

Seronera Lodge, Serengeti National Park, Wednesday, December 6, 2006, 3:23pm

(Despite what you may have thought, I was not on drugs when I wrote the last entry. Dr. Frank gave me a MAC to work on while I have been here so some of these things were written over three day plus days. Thus sometimes the flow gets interrupted. So much has been happening that it is getting difficult to stay on up the events; therefore I want to just get some of these done so I can move on and catch up. No time to re-read this. Need to get to bed as Freddie is picking me at up 7am to take me to Arusha National Park)

The past few days have been pretty busy. There has been so much to do and things have been so busy that my departure just snuck up on me. Two nights ago, Edward announced to my house that I was leaving. Boas, my favorite kept going, “No! No! No!” and wrapped himself around my neck and torso so tightly that he simply looked like a growth that had become a part of me.

Last night I said my good byes and told the kids that I loved them and that I will always be thinking of them, and no matter where they are, I will always be a part of them. I also told them that the most important thing for them to do was get an education so they can help their country and then come visit me in the United States. One child said to Edward to translate to me, “How is that possible? How is that possible to make that much money?”

There were many teary eyes this morning. I was so amused and flattered that surprisingly I didn’t get too choked up. Joshua, Boas, Ester, Colette, and Marietta were bawling when I left. Marietta was this quite little child and it took me two weeks to even realize that she was in one of the houses. I didn’t spend that much time with her as she was often on her own or in the house when all the kids were out playing, so I was surprised to have that affect on her. Goodbyes lasted a long time and there were many hugs and kids wrapping their arms around my neck, arms, thighs, and waist. It is a wonder that my back has not gone out. As I am writing this from an incredible lodge in the heart of the Serengeti, looking out upon the plains, I am trying not too think of them too much because I know the tears will flow. I will really miss them and I am going to have to find a way to get back here. Last night when I was interviewing India, she said that the student teachers here are like the children’s brothers and sisters and the volunteers are like their aunts and uncles. I know now that I will always have a family in Tanzania.

As we pulled away from the orphanage, I put my iPod on random, hoping that the song that would come on would nail the mood I was in. I have been thinking about what this song would be for a while. I hit random and a song by Paris Combo came on, which is a French band and far too happy for the somber occasion. Each song that came on afterwards did not fit the mood, so finally I put, “You Can’t Always Get What You Want,” on by the Rolling Stones. It seemed much more apropos.

As we drove out the dirt road that had taken me to the farmhouse and back so many times over the last month, I looked back at the kids waving as they receded into the distance. I began to look through the pictures of the morning and nearly started crying seeing the looks of sorrow, anguish, and sadness on these children’s faces. I wondered if me leaving stirred some feelings of abandonment, losing their parents, or some other event that they had experience in their brief but turbulent lives.

As we made our way to Karatu to pick up supplies for the Safari, Freddie was pretty good about giving me my space to just listen to music and think, considering he is a rather amiable and gregarious fellow.

Freddie asked me if it was OK if we picked up a friend of his who works in the Serengeti. “Hamna Sheeda,” I said (no problem).

Our first stop was the bank where I got raped exchanging shillings for dollars, but oddly enough, to enter Tanzanian National Parks, you need the dollar, so I turned 360,000 shillings into $278. I had $160 left over from traveling here so it was enough to take care of the American cash transactions I needed to do. While I dealt with the bank, Freddie went off to find the friend and coworker who was supplying us with tents and camping equipment for the night.

The man behind me on line exchanged a ten dollar tip for about 12,000 shillings and I couldn’t help but feel guilty that I just exchanged this wad of shillings and for the most part, it was easy money, sitting in some cubicle all day doing some monotonous routine and getting paid very well. And here was this guy, busting his ass, sucking up to “rich” Americans to earn a measly ten-dollar tip. Is that the residual effects of Catholic guilt, or is the just an American-in-a-third-world-country guilt?

When my transaction was over, I sat there waiting patiently for Freddie to return. I was amused to see a man carry a “Zolo” bag, which coincidentally was written in the same font as “Polo.” I also found an advertisement in the bank for “Melengo Bank” quite amusing, and at the same time sad. It was a picture of a watermelon with many seeds spread out in front of it and it said, “Save money like you save seeds.” Beneath it, it read, “Let’s talk about savings.” Meanwhile, a well-dressed man sat down next to me and asked me what I thought of Bush, and I can tell he wasn’t pimping his ladies. Part of it was probably general curiosity and part of it was also an attempt to let the man talk about his political views, but we were in agreement about Bush so there was no debate to be had. He said, “He sure has made a mess in Iraq, no? His party is going to have a tough time wining the next election, no?” I wanted to say, “Never underestimate the stupidity of Americans,” but I refrained.

Freddie returned to tell me he could not find the man who was supposed to supply us with the equipment, but we could stay at a hostel in the park that was part of the ranger station. “Hamna Sheeda,” I said. I was looking forward to camping out in the Serengeti, but you have to roll with the punches when you are traveling. He was very apologetic and almost scared to break this news to me, but quite relieved at my easy-go-lucky nature.

From the bank we went to several grocery stores to buy supplies. We went to several stores because the prices were too high and Freddie was determined to “shave the budget.” Apparently everything is negotiable from Pringles, to beer, to bottled water. At one place we stopped to fill our “cool box” with ice. This turned out to be a frozen Kilimanjaro water bottle and the man who sold it to us broke the plastic with a machete and then proceeded to break up the ice with his machete. I thought Freddie bought several bottles of ice, but later when I went for my first beer, sadly there was not much ice.

Incidentally, Freddie also does not really know how to pack a cooler. The ice was on the bottom and all the cans were piled on top of it. I later rearranged it so that the cans were on the bottom and the ice was on the top, so as the ice melted, it cooled the rest of the cans and made a pool of cold water at the bottom. You always pull from the bottom of a cooler. That right there is $90,000 worth of college education boiled down to the bare essentials. Good thing $80,000 was provided by a soccer scholarship. Sometimes I would be partying with my friends in college and take a time out to thank them and their parents for letting me drink the beer I was drinking, and my friend Brendan would always be quick to point out in the cafeteria or the likes that his parents were paying for my meal.

“You Zee,” he said, “Da Chaga tribe makes up many of the business men hearya and dhey are very sharp when dhey zee white people. Dhey puzh up da prize from nothing.” So at each ramshackle shop we stopped at, Freddie would go to one place looking for food and such, and his friend would go searching for a good price for Kilimanjaro, Safari, or Tusker beers as they are my brands. Meanwhile I would sit in the car and frantically write down notes about how god-damn amusing this situation was and how fuckin’ awesome these two guys were treating me.

We were all set to depart for the Serengeti and I asked Freddie, “Hey Freddie, do people smoke marijuana around here?” knowing damn well how prevalent it was. Freddie does not drink or smoke and works for a Christian organization and Jesus is definitely his man. That’s cool, I thought. I’m down with the man as well so this is gonna work out real nice-like.

“Yez, of course,” he said. “I rememba you and Jason talking about dit. Why did you not askga? I will get uz some.”

“Whoa, whoa, wait a minute,” I said. “Is it dangerous to get?” As if there are NARCS walking around Karatu waiting to bust pot dealers.

“Yez, it is no problem.” which is Freddie’s catch phrase. I like his style. “I will just go find some gangsta boyz. How many piezes you needa?” He is referring to joints so I tell him three cigarettes.

With that, he pulled the car over to the side of the road, jumped out of the car, and said “I will go find uz zome.” It was 10:02am.

In the meantime, his friend went to get a pack of smokes and I sat there in the car, continuing to write notes of the unfolding events.

Karatu is a bustling strip, a makeshift town that no doubt came to being as a result of travelers going from Arusha to the Serengeti. There are people everywhere in Karatu; hustling, selling jackets, fly catchers trying to get your attention (people who try to get you to go on a Safari with the company that is paying them pennies to market their tours), people selling trinkets, chickens, jewelry, woodcarvings and sandals, and the place is checkered with the red and purple Masaai. While I was sitting in the car, and man came up to me asking for something. I assumed money or a gift. I said, “Hapana Kiswahili,” which means no Swahili. He pointed to his stomach and I said, “Pole sana, buddy.” (I’m sorry).

Freddie’s friend Yasin returned to the car and we chatted about Julius Kambarage Nyerere, who after fighting for independence from British Colonialism in the 1950’s, became the first president of independent Tanzania in 1961. The more I learn about this man, the more impressed I am by his vision and foresight. Prior to his presidency, there were 124 tribes acting and speaking independently of each other in the Tanzania territory. The first thing he did was unite the nation under the umbrella of Swahili, making it the national language. He also made education one of his pillars, and worked hard to instill tolerance towards each other. As a result, a Tanzania will be quick to tell you they are one of the most peaceful countries in the world. Finally, Nyerere had the foresight to realize that its natural surroundings were one of its greatest assets and would be a source of income for the country.

Fifteen minutes from when Freddie left the car, he returned with two joints and two sleeves of “ganja” as he said, “We call it ganja hearya,” We made a final pit stop to pick up rolling papers and at 10:21am, we are hitting the road with two joints and more than enough to roll four or five more. In addition, we had; four 1.5 liter bottles of Kilimanjaro water, a six-pack of Tusker, a six-pack of Safari (as if there is any other beer to drink on Safari), two cylinders of Pringles, a six-pack of Coke and a six-pack of Sprite. We were ready to “Sap-arty.” (I am working to trademark that as we speak.) Where as just two hours ago I had a heavy heart, like the puddles of water that evaporate on the side of the road, my heavy heart had evaporated as well. Kids? What kids?

When we reach the entrance to the Ngorongoro conservation area, we pay the $40 transit and vehicle fee to drive through, and in the meantime, pick up another rider. Jospephat is a high-ranking accountant for the Serengeti National Park, as Freddie tells me. I am fine with this and a lively conversation in Swahili ensues, allowing me to zone out and put on my “Going to Africa” playlist, which I threw together quite randomly one night. The first song to play is “Thunder on the Mountain”, by Bob Dylan, off his latest album, Modern Times. It seemed like a more fitting driving song, and time to leave the sad music behind. Dylan is incredible that he can still kick it out the way he does. My journey was just beginning.

We climbed the Ngorongoro crater wall as we had just two weeks ago, and then hugged the rim for about 15-20 kilometers. We finally came down the other side of the mountain and the land opened up into a giant plateau scattered with Masaai Bomas. After traveling through there for a while, I came upon my first Giraffe. They are the strangest, most fascinating, most graceful creatures I have ever seen. They do not seem like they should be of this world and George Lucas definitely used the Giraffe as inspiration for many of the creatures in that bar scene from the first Star Wars (I actually visited that tonight, but more on that later.)

We uza da giraff as a national symbol,” Freddie said.

“They sure are strange,” I reply.

“Yeza, but dhay are alzo peazful and polite.” I guess that is similar to Freddie, but I would add amiable, accommodating, and agreeable. I thought to myself, how in hell did evolution ever produce a giraffe? Meanwhile, Zebras and Wildebeests crossed the road like deer in northern and western New Jersey.

We crossed the border of the Ngorongoro Conservation area into the Serengeti and into the midst of maybe 100,000 zebras and wildebeests, but I think this is probably a conservative guestimate as I am fortunate to be here in the midst of the great migration.

There is nothing but space when you enter the Serengeti from the Ngorognoro Conservation area. It is just one giant plain from horizon to horizon. There are mountains behind you, but all around you the plain meets the horizon, only broken by the thousands of resident animals that turn to tiny dots as they recede to the horizon.

Since Josephat was a high-ranking accountant, he seemed to know every person working on the side of the road or working to fix the roads. We passed two guys on a large construction vehicle, which was trying to even out the road, and paused for a second to chat. I don’t know what was said, but one of the guys on the vehicle pulled from behind him two beers and smiled from ear to ear as if to say, “Oh don’t worry about us working in the hot sun. We are partying.” I am assuming drinking on the job is perfectly reasonable here. Come to think of it, is in the states as well – as long as you don’t get caught.

We reached the busy Nobby Hill Gate of Serengeti National Park at 1:10pm. I walked around observing how international the crowd was and decided to grab a juice box while Freddie dealt with permits, etc. This was Josephat’s destination, so by the time we pulled out at 1:51pm, the party of four had now become three.

When we departed I noticed Yasin was drinking a beer he purchased at the snack shop so I said, “That seems like a pretty damn good idea,” and with that, I reached into the cooler and popped my first Tusker of the day. Slowly the Safari vehicle was turning into the Sa-party vehicle. “Yez, yez. A very good idea,” said Yasin.

I was listening to Phish on my iPod and popped my head up through the roof. As the plains opened up, so was Page on piano and Trey on guitar a particularly good rendition of “You Enjoy Myself” from a show at Washington’s Gorge on July 13, 2003. I happened to be in the audience at this one.

When you are out on Safari, when you see a few cars parked on the side of the road, there is definitely a roadside attraction because if there is nothing to see, you are on the move. We saw a few cars parked down a dirt road besides a large rock outcropping and without knowing anything about lions, when I saw if from off in the distance I thought this would be a good sunny place for a big cat to sit in the sun. Sure enough, a large male with a magnificent mane and a female were lying around after an afternoon romp.

“Maybe this is your lucky day,” Freddie said.

“I’ve been lucky so far,” I said to the two of them. “We’ve got friends, beer, and ganja. What else do we need?”

“Maybe some women,” Yasin added. Well put Yasin.

We moved on again, racing across the Serengeti, my head out through the roof listening to Phish’s instrumental song First Tube. I felt like Hunter S. Thompson traveling through the desert with his lawyer, except I had two Tanzanian men with me, Freddie and Yasin, and none of us were on LSD. Traveling through the open plains with my two new friends, drinking beer and cranking tunes, I was salivating from the delicious taste of freedom. Again – another cinematic moment of my life.

We arrived at Seronera Lodge for a late lunch a little after 3pm. Freddie left me on my own and I had plans of writing but one of the waiters had different plans. I saw him eyeing me from a far because he probably doesn’t see too many solo travelers coming through this expensive resort, so I think he was probably curious as to what my story was. Before I knew it he was sitting with me and he was telling me about his 23-year-old son at University in Dar Es Salaam who is studying philosophy and wants to become a Catholic priest. He asked me many questions about the orphanage and we discussed the need for assistance in Tanzania. He said it is not so much that you need to hand money out to people, but to just give them assistance, give them skills so they can make it on their own. “Give a man a fish and eats for a day,” I said.

“Teach a man to fish and eats for a lifetime,” he replied.

Freddie took a long time to pick me up at lunch. I am not sure what he was doing but it gave me time to write. I thought he was dropping Yasin off, but when I returned to the car, much to my surprise and joy, Yasin was still there. As I said, Freddie does not drink or smoke. I’m not afraid to drink alone, but libations are more enjoyable when shared with someone else, so I was glad to have a co-conspirator in my quest for the perfect Serengeti-buzz.

It was probably 5:00pm by the time we started our late day game drive. I may have said this at some point already, but I was not really looking forward to Safari. My mind was in Zanzibar already, but what I could not begin to comprehend was what you will see on safari, where the space will take your mind, or how much fun you can have standing through the roof of a Land Cruiser, cranking tunes, and drinking cold beers from a can. The only thing that could have made the day better was a joint. Thank God for the greatest Safari driver EVER. I had already had a few beers during the day’s drive and one or two at lunch, so it was as if the good Lord’s good-man read my mind.

“Would you like-a to smoke-a? It is a very nice les-zure time, da late afternoon game drive,” said Freddie.

Yasin thought about joining me. I saw the indecisiveness and hesitation on his face, but he decided against it so I thought, looks like I’m flying alone again. And with that, I sparked the joint and took the first drag of “ganja” in a long time. There was something so anciently familiar about it; that scent – it took me back to the first time I smoked pot up at me pool with John Rodrigues, as well as that whole era of my life – those early days of experimenting with it.

That morning, when I was packing, I had just finished off a travel size container of Q-tips. I thought about throwing it away but then I thought, this might serve some purpose so I will hold on to it. Sure enough, it is the perfect size for a lighter and two joints, or a joint and a roach. When I placed the roach in the container, out from the joint rolled two seeds. Ah yes, that was the familiar scent of adolescence. We Northwesterners are spoiled with B.C. bud as it is called and I am pretty sure it is impossible for them to grow the whacky-weed with seeds in it. For those of you that don’t smoke, you don’t want seeds in your bud.

The Serengeti at sunset is something else. Animals that are resting from the hot sun begin to stir, insects grow louder, and the colors in the western sky burn molten, casting the surroundings in light you don’t see in the Northern Hemisphere.

After a short drive, we came upon two lions who again had just finished mating and they were sitting on the side of the road, maybe eight feet from me. I was looking down at them and as we started to drive away, the male lion and I locked eyes so deeply it was as if we both gazed into each other’s soul. Later, we came upon a leopard, which is rather rare.

It is difficult to pass a judgment between the lion and the leopard, but they are both two of the most magnificent animals I have ever seen. I had no idea how big a leopard was. It was just hanging out with its mate in a giant rock outcropping called a “kopjes.” It was too far to get a picture but I got to watch it slink away through binoculars. It appeared again at the top of the outcropping, which was covered in high grass. Through the binoculars, I could see its beautiful head silhouetted against the dusk sky, its markings so clear in my viewfinder. The leopard is a majestic animal; noble, strong, cunning, and elusive. The lion is stately and grand. They are each brilliant and beautiful in their own merits.

“You are-a very lucky,” said Freddie. “Every time I am-a wit you we see-a many a rare thingz.” I’m in the flow I thought, and I’m not going to fight it.

At one point during the drive, I had my iPod on random and I was thinking about the previous blog entry I had written about music, and traveling through the spaces of our lives, and how I had missed the mark on it. I had my iPod on random and the song, “Duty Free Tequila,” came on, which is a Banned From the Mall song (the band I play in in Seattle). It was such a perfect song for the moment, mellow, fun, spacious, and contemplative, that the fact that it was playing was almost divine.

Listening to my iPod, listening to Banned From the Mall, in the middle of the Serengeti at sundown, it hit me; I realized that the spaces I had been looking for all my life, those spaces I have been searching for, those spaces in which you find truth, beauty, and the essence of who you are – by striking out on my own, jumping into the great unknown, I was now in the midst of the greatest one of my life. It was from my creative hand that I found myself in the middle of the Serengeti. From where I was physically, to what I was thinking and feeling, to what I was listening to, it was all a result of my creation. I realized I no longer have to search for those spaces because they are contained within me and I, as a creator, can give rise and birth to them. In music, in writing, in creating, in participating in life, I am the creator of my own spaces and experiences I travel through.

I touched upon it at the end of the blog entry “Creators and the Creator,” but the Creator created us to create. Buddha, Krishna, Vishnu, or Christ, the goal is not to worship, but to become. Those prophets, saviors, avatars, or whatever you want to call them, came to life to show us a way of living and becoming. Life is a state of becoming and I think it is about brining the gift you have been given, your consciousness, into line with the Greater Consciousness or the Universal Consciousness. When you are able to tap into it, there is no more struggle, rather you are going with the flow of life and being true to who you are, and in being true to who you are, you are guided to become that person by the people and experiences, the spaces you pass through. If you are in that space, in the flow, then that also means your eyes are open for the road signs that are all around us at all times.

I wrote in a Banned From the Mall song called “Stardust”, and part of it goes;

“I know to master like water, I need to let go;
flowing formless, I let myself go, I let it flow
I let it go…it’s all an illusion…

I am nothing and I am everything,
I am stardust floating in the wind…
Drifting through space,
From place to place,
A formless face,
I am space…”

I think maybe I understand those line now better than ever.

It is easy to write all of this from where I am, traveling through East Africa, having incredible experiences, meeting incredible people, seeing incredible things, removed from the realities of city life and work, but I could not have had these experiences if I had not let go and let life take me where it has. The hardest part of this journey so far was making the decision to do it, as well as the weeks of uncertainty, speculation, and fear that lead up to it. But ever since I got on that plane, things have just worked out for me.

I am not saying I have found any great secret in life or something that will release me from all pain or that my life is going to be all rosy from here on out, but I do believe in the flow, and I feel more capable of anything I set my mind to than at any other point in my life. The flow is a state of consciousness or state of the mind that I have been experimenting with since probably the day Princess Diana died. No, that experience did not shock me into the flow.

That day I was floating down the Delaware River with about twelve friends on the last day of a rafting/camping trip. At one point I jumped out of the boat and got caught in a current. I slowly drifted away from the canoe and no one really noticed but I started to panic. The current picked up and although I could just barely stand, when I would try to hold myself with my feet against a rock, the tide would over take me. I started to panic and fight like mad, but then something came over me and told me to just let go so I did; I let go and let the current take me where it would. And once I gave up the struggle, the current took me safely to the shore.

I have been trying to incorporate that into my life ever since, sometimes with resounding success and sometimes with miserable failure. It is at those moments of failure, when everything seems to be going as shitty as it possibly can, that I realize I am holding on to life too hard and trying to implement the ego’s plan as opposed to the self or the soul’s plan. This grasp, this holding on to life so tight is usually born out of fear and what I think I should be doing in light of being “successful” in society.

Driving home that night, I was standing out of the roof listening to the National, cranking “Lit Up,” and dancing and pumping my fists in the air like a mad man. There was a tremendous thundercloud over the Seronera Lodge lighting up the sky almost every second.

My quarters were rather ghetto, however. It was a hostel of sorts, that is part of the ranger station. What it really was, was a very institutional prison like structure with a bed, a very holy mosquito netting, and by that I do not mean of the Lord, and about two feet of space to walk around two sides of the bed – and for this I was charged around $30. I guess when you are in the middle of the Serengeti, you should be grateful that you have shelter at all. Freddie told me not to go outside to look at the stars or anything because sometimes the lions like to come sleep under the cars sometimes. What a tragic end to a perfect day that would be; getting picked up by a lion.

Freddie showed me to my room and left for a while so I took a “shower” and washed a half-inch of dust off me from driving through the Serengeti all day. Luckily, I had become quite adroit at the bucket bath so bathing was not too much of a challenge for me. Freddie then picked me up to take me to the Seronera Lodge for dinner.

I thought Freddie would be joining me but I guess it is not encouraged for the drivers to eat with the rest of the patrons, which was a total downer. Had I known Freddie would not be dining with me I would have taken a book, notebook, or computer with me. Luckily however, I had a pocket notebook with me. I say luckily not so much for the fact that I could write down notes, but because it was all I could do to distract myself from the “band” which consisted of a xylophone player, bongos, and a person on snare drum. They all wore tie-dyes and it seemed as if they only knew one, incessant, never-ending song.

The lodge Tanzanian government and is now owned by a man from India. It looked like it could be a 70s ski lodge and I was surrounded by a very international group of wealthy Safari-goers. The rooms cost $260 a night but the cost of Safari is staggering. It is very much a leisure activity of the wealthy class. You do not see many locals Tanzanians on Safari, despite the fact that it is dirt-cheap for a true resident. I say a true resident because I have a resident stamp in my passport because I worked here and this gives me some great discounts at hotels, etc. But if you do see Tanzanians on Safari, most likely they are piled into a bus with as many of them on it as you can possible imagine.

The dining patrons of this fine establishment on this evening consisted of honeymooners, old-timers on vacations, people on anniversary trips, grandpa taking the fam on vacation, and a family from India. I am sure this place does not get many solo travelers such as myself, but then again, I wasn’t staying here. Definitely a fine mixture of Euro-trash as well, but I’m sure they were looking at me and calling me Ameri-trash as I was dressed in a t-shirt, jeans, and trail-runners; not exactly dining attire.

When Freddie picked me up and we left, I was concerned that the fuckin’ song the band played on and on and on would haunt me all night, but it quickly escaped me as we went to the “Wema Bar.” The Wema Bar is where all the drivers sleep and drink. It was a tiny room with a wood structure around the bar that seemed to close the barmaid in behind prison bars, or as if she was a teller in a bank. The plan was to have one Tusker and leave, but one turned to three as I ran into Yasin again as well as another one of their friends named Mohammed. Yasin was probably in his mid-forties and liked me a lot for letting me transit him to the Serengeti instead of taking a public bus, and for letting him drink half my beers. (Lesson #6 for the solo-Safari traveler: pack more beer than you think you can drink because you never know who you might pick up). He told Freddie, “You take very good care of this man. He is a good man,” and took another nip off his brown-colored drink.

Mohamed, 33 although he looked 24, was an interesting character. The next morning Freddie gave me the back-story on him, but he had been working for a Safari company for several years and was a good, hard, smart worker. He was working with the only company that provides sunrise hot air balloon rides over the Serengeti. One time, his hand got caught in one of the strings and severed his finger. Instead of having to pay him workers severance, since one of the previous hot air balloon drivers (who are called pilots) had recently passed away, they decided to send him to Oakland, California for three months to train to be a pilot. Being a hot air balloon pilot around these parts I would have to imagine would be something like Maverick or Goose in Top Gun. I wonder if Mohamed has a call sign?

Anyway, Mohamed told me about the intricacies of flying a hot air balloon as well as his favorite club team, which was Chelsea, but I thought the flying part was more interesting. He had an engaging, disarming, and welcoming smile, which was good because at first it was a little strange to be the only white man around for miles and to be in the midst of all these drivers, some fairly intoxicated. What was interesting though, is that every 50 feet or so on the plains, the winds move in a different direction, so to go left, you could fly at 50 feet, to go right, you could rise up to 100 feet, etc. He said, essentially he could point to an Arcadia Tree in the distance and take me right to it. He also said had I been there a day earlier, he would have taken me up for free, which wasn’t a bad offer considering it is $459 for a one hour ride. Leave it to Freddie to introduce me to good peeps.

When it was time to leave, Yasin said, “It was a pleasure meeting you my friend. If God allows it, we will meet again.”

“I think He will allow it” I said, “At least I hope He does.”

Freddie dropped me off and as soon as he drove away I realized I was without water and rather parched. I wasn’t going to drink from the faucet so I sucked it up and had cotton mouth all night. Thanks to the good graces of Mr. and Mrs. soon–to-be David McFeely, I was armed with a well stitched mosquito netting, so I climbed beneath its Malaria power-shield and went to bed. I did not have long to sleep however, as Freddie was picking me up for a 6am game drive.

(This was started in the Serengeti, finished 12/08, 11:45pm at Dr. Frank and Susan’s place in Karatu)